


Bathrobes, Bandits and Betrayal

by JonBonHovis



Series: The Peralta-Santiago Family Sandwich [3]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Crimes & Criminals, Dad Jake, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 17:24:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9133972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JonBonHovis/pseuds/JonBonHovis
Summary: Jake's gotten used to being a Dad, but there's something about this morning that seems weird, even if it's only the local crazy that agrees with him. But once he gets into work, the universe’s hella weird vibes are explained, and Jake mentally apologises to his gut for not listening to it, because of course it would know the day he would see his arch-nemesis again and finally, finally, achieve his life purpose.“Hey Jakey P! How you doin’?!” Doug Judy calls from his perp chair.





	

Jake feels it as soon as he gets startled out of sleep by the alarm clock he has threatened to destroy with a baseball but almost every day since it entered his life: whether good or bad, something is going to happen today.

Friday mornings are always a mess (TGIF though, amirite?). They're tired from a long week and though cosy lie-ins and lazy days are so close they're also so far, held back by school and work commitments.

Jake brings Sam to school every morning on the subway before heading to the Nine-Nine – Amy has to drive out to the Seven-Six. It means that they have to work around each other each morning – Jake has to get both himself and Sam up and ready and manage not to delay Amy in the process. Their alarm has two snoozes, though he's got pretty good at getting up after the first one after watching Amy get dressed. This morning, he stumbles out of bed and throws on clothes haphazardly, pulling on socks as he hops out the bedroom door and nearly breaks his neck tripping on a small pair of sneakers on his way to the kitchen.

“Hey, buddy! Don’t leave your shoes in the middle of the hall!” Jake calls out without thinking, before gasping and shutting his mouth with an audible _click_ because that was way too Amy and not him at all.

“Boobs, farts, boobs and farts,” he mutters to himself quietly, not wanting his son to hear but needing to re-establish himself and hold back the sands of time. He found a few grey hairs by his ears yesterday morning, and though Amy can tease him all she wants, calling him _distinguished_ and kissing him on the cheek, the sudden reminder of age and mortality has _shaken him to his very core_.

But then again, he does look quite handsome. If he changes his vibe from Boyishly Charming to Young George Clooney (they're practically identical, now), he totally pulls it off. So, maybe he’ll hold off on the existential crisis for a while.

It’s brought his son out, at least. “Are you okay, Dad?” Sam asks, still in his pyjamas and looking at him weirdly, but picking up his shoes (and maybe Jake’s stumbled onto a super power here – he knows for a fact that there’s at least a ten-minute window between Amy’s shouted instructions and their execution, but he got an almost immediate reaction) (1-0 to Peralta, aw yeah).

“Yeah, kiddo, just got a weird feeling about today. Oh god, it’s not your mom’s birthday, is it?!” He asks, suddenly filled with dread.

Sam thinks for a second, then shakes his head.

“Your birthday?”

Another shake.

“ _My_ birthday?”

Another shake.

“Well, I'm stumped.” Jake puts his hands on his hips, before waving it off. “Ah, I’ll detect it eventually. You nearly ready for school?”

“Dad, I'm still in my pyjamas.”

“Right, right, right,” Jake nods. “Breakfast in five.”

 

* * *

 

“Who’s picking you up from soccer practice later, me or your mom?” He asks later, spatula in hand, cooking his son’s breakfast.

Said son is currently at the kitchen table behind him, hunched over a glass of orange juice like he's hungover and its strong coffee. “Dad, I'm going to Leon’s for a sleepover after practice.”

“Does your mom know?”

“Duh,” Sam says, and Jake can practically hear him rolling his eyes. He’s picked up some of the famous Linetti sass, and jury’s still out on whether that’s a good thing or not.

“Then it’s cool with me. Who's picking you up from Leon’s tomorrow, me or your mom? Never mind, it’s the weekend, I'm doing it.” As a lieutenant, Amy works weekends, which kind of sucks but she loves it: she's running a squad, which means she basically gets to organise people (the next level up from files), and Jake’s a sucker for the excited/ self-confident smirk she sports after a good day. “Leon’s the one that lives at the subway stop opposite the bodega with the flags, right?”

“I can take the subway myself! It’s only, like, five stops.”

“Sorry, no can do, kiddo. You’ll be old and grey before your mom’s okay with you getting the train by yourself.”

Amy hates the subway – she thinks it’s super dodgy and doesn’t want her child being alone and exposed to its own brand of crime and general nastiness. Jake thought she was overreacting a little until she told him all her gross beat cop subway stories and traumatised him (so now they both have zero chill about letting Sam on the subway alone, but he’s the cool parent so he pretends it’s all her).

Sam grumbles a bit before begrudgingly answering, “Yeah, with the flags.”

“Awesomesauce.” Jake twirls around and dumps the omelette on his son’s plate. “Eat up, we’re already late and I haven't made you your lunch yet.”

“I did.” Amy appears and rummages in the fridge before grabbing a brown paper bag with a wobbly smiley face drawn on it in permanent marker. She plops it down beside Sam on her way to press a kiss to the top of his head; Jake gets a proper kiss seconds later.

“Morning, babe,” he says as he presents her with a cup of coffee, because damn if she isn't still smokin’ hot even on the other side of forty-five (Sam thinks they're gross, and wishes they could use boring pet names like ‘honey’ or ‘sweetheart’, but those are for undercover stings; ‘babe’ is for the real Jake and Amy).

“Morning,” she yawns, taking a sip of the hot beverage. “Running late?”

“No more than usual,” he grins, and she rolls her eyes playfully before quizzing Sam to see if he's remembered everything he’ll need for the day.

“Got your homework? Your boots?”

His mouth is full of omelette but he nods his head.

“Jersey? Shorts? Shin guards? Mouth guard?”

All nods.

“Toothbrush? Pyjamas? Underwear? Socks?”

Sam puts down his fork. “Ah furbot socks.”

“I know; I put in a pair,” Amy takes another sip of her coffee. “Don’t forget, you’ve got three bags today. And don’t forget to put your dirty gear in a separate bag! And shake–”

“Shake the mud off my boots; I know, mom.”

“Finished, kiddo? Go brush your teeth and grab your stuff, we gotta catch the train in five,” Jake instructs, whisking the empty plate off the table and into the dishwasher as Sam runs off to his room. Then, he puts his hands on Amy’s waist.

“Proper kiss?” He asks, hopefully.

“Coffee taste,” she warns him as she sets her mug down on the counter, as if it isn't his favourite flavour of Amy. Their son comes back into the kitchen just as they're getting into it.

“Gross. Dad, the train?”

Jake waves his hands behind his back, and says in between kisses, “Get next one.”

That, of course, prompts Amy to pull away from him after one last peck. “Go,” she laughs. “Have a good day, cariño.”

“Thanks, mom. _Dad_.”

“Alright, alright,” Jake grumbles and goes to toe on his shoes from where he kicked them off at the front door last night, calling “See you later, Ames,” as Sam pushes him down the stairs of their apartment building and saddles him with his bags like he's a pack mule. The subway is weirdly alert – there seems to be more of an anticipatory air than normal, like all the tired, drone-like commuters going to their super boring jobs are in on a joke and he's the only one left out. Sam doesn’t seem to notice it – he chatters on as usual and makes Jake leave him to walk the rest of the way a block from his school (demonstrating the teen years are on the horizon) as he does every day.

Jake picks up two coffees from the only coffee shop that’s not a Starbucks within a four-block radius of the precinct. He's five minutes away and a third of the way into his when the local crazy, Noah (they don’t know his real name, but he's old, always talking about the world ending and pulling various tiny animals out of his many pockets and giving Jake heart attacks when he does, so Amy’s nickname stuck) looms out of a shady alley in his customary shady shuffle.

“Today has gone off,” he announces, “It’s gone off, and now it tastes weird.”

“Yes!” Jake exclaims, pleased to have found someone else who agrees with him. “Today is weird. Thank you for confirming that. Your coffee,” he holds out the second cup. 

The old man takes his caramel macchiato with almond milk and sweetener and pops off the lid to smell it; Jake tries not grimace when strands of his matted beard are dipped into it. 

“Thanks, Jake. I’ll pay you,” he offers but when he reaches into his pocket he pulls out a mouse – _Algernon?!_ – and Jake swiftly insists it was a gift. He goes to work, heart beating a little faster but satisfied that this day is not only weird to him, even if it’s Noah who agrees with him.

 

* * *

 

The Nine-Nine has changed over the years. He and Boyle are the only detectives left now – not counting Scully and Hitchcock, who will probably die in those stretched, stained office chairs of theirs. Holt is still Captain, though, so even with the new faces (and Jake isn't sure when he started to count on Captain Holt to play along with his jokes and general goofiness, but somehow it happened and he does), the precinct runs as it always did.

Terry is a lieutenant now, and is constantly making vague references to pop culture or saying strings of letters that are apparently words the teens say nowadays – the price of having three teenage daughters. Rosa, Pimento and their three Bichon Frises are off doing their own thing – Rosa Sergeant-ed the six-two for a while (which lead to a lot of intense games of ‘does she live near there or is she just trying to throw us off’) before joining Major Crimes (which lead to a ‘Congratulations! You’ve Joined the Enemy!’ party).

Gina met a Brazilian man named Raul at a mystic retreat last spring and has been touring South America with him ever since. She sends Jake bodacious postcards to let him know she's still alive and to scandalise his neighbours. The precinct can't wait for her to come back to work – the biggest plot twist of all was when they realised how much she ran the place, and her replacement (Helen, who if she was a cake would be carrot cake) is a mess.

But all of that doesn’t matter because right there, lounging in perp chair next to Jake’s desk like he has every right to be there is a man that he knows all too well.

“Hey Jakey P! How you doin’?!”

And suddenly the universe’s hella weird vibes are explained, and Jake mentally apologises to his gut for not listening to it, because of course it would know the day he would see his arch-nemesis again and finally, _finally_ , achieve his life purpose.

“Someone put this man in handcuffs and throw the key into the ocean because I have learned from my mistakes, Doug Judy, and you are going straight to jail!” He announces, stabbing his finger at Judy with such ferocity that it startles him a little, even if it’s totally warranted.

“Aw, boo, don’t be like that.” Judy pouts. “How’s your fine lady, Amy? I know you got married – did you get my wedding present?”

“Yes, we did,” Jake mutters, thinking of the matching monogrammed bathrobes hanging up in their closet at home – ‘Thunderstone’ and ‘Fine Lady’, his and hers, respectively, and the note they came with (‘ _Hey Peralta! Congratulations! Think of me when you smush! Love, your best friend, Douglas H. Judy_ ’). “They're super soft and we wear them all the time. But awesome gifts aside, you're not getting away this time!”

“I’m glad you liked ‘em, I had them custom made just for you.” Judy smiles, and Jake realises he's been wary to approach his own goddamned desk, half expecting something to fall on him or trip him up and cause him to lose his arch-nemesis from right under his nose. He pushes those thoughts aside and sets his things down on the table, his bag under the desk and his coat round the back of the chair, like it’s any other day, like he's totally chill and totally not freaking out a little.

“Damn! You had a kid?” Judy exclaims, picking up the framed photo he keeps on his desk for late nights and weekends for a closer look. “That’s beautiful, that’s the circle of life right there. Am I the godfather?”

“No, you're not the godfather,” Jake snaps, wrestling the frame out of his grip and putting it back in its place, adjusting it to the exact angle he can see it best from his chair. The photo is from the annual Nine-Nine precinct picnic last year, and was snapped by an always camera-savvy (if not always appropriate but always derisive of family photos) Gina, when she was going through her ‘candid photographer’ phase. That phase yielded a lot of immortalised moments of off-guard faces and unflattering poses, but this photo is one of the good ones: it’s him and Amy, with her arms around a grinning Sam, laughing and looking natural and in love and it’s kind of his most prized possession (even more precious than his Die Hard poster, but just because he has a spare).

“Don’t feel too bad,” Charles says bitterly, walking past. “I'm not the godfather, either.”

“Boyle!” Jake protests, because the last thing Judy needs is encouragement. “Why are you here, Judy?”

“I’m turning myself in,” he says, and in Jake’s head the sun emerges from the clouds and angels sing before Judy laughs. “Nah, I have important information and I wanna do a deal.”

“What kind of information?”

“Like, tasty information. You think I’d straight up walk into a police station if it wasn’t?”

 

* * *

 

Jake deposits Judy in the interrogation room and stations two beat cops outside to guard the door, and another down the hall just in case. He needs to take a breather, to pull back and look at the situation – getting involved and caught up in shenanigans has been his downfall before, and he will not lose Judy this time, goddammit, no matter how savoury the info.

He walks into the break room and there's Amy, with two coffees in her hands a sympathetic smile on her face.

He flashes back to ten years ago, and realises how much he misses working with her, in all her pantsuit, severe hairstyle, ferocious glory. But he doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t have to.

“Charles called,” she says simply, putting the two mugs on the table. “And I thought you might want to take a step back from the case and go over all possible exits.” At this, she lifts up a cardboard tube and turns it on its head, and unrolls what look to be the blueprints of the entire precinct.

Jake is so in love with her. Screw fourteen years of togetherness, he's so giddy it feels like day one all over again.

She sits down after weighing down the corners of the paper, but he abruptly pulls her to her feet again by her elbow and kisses her (totally with tongue), and despite her initial muffled protests she gets into it but reprimands him when it ends – because she's a lieutenant now and _workplace propriety, babe_.

That’s when they realise Hitchcock is in the corner of the room watching them and grinning creepily, which kills the vibe immediately. So, they sit down at the desk and map out all the possible escape routes, factoring in both tunnels and air support (Jake’s not taking any chances), keeping their ankles linked underneath the table.

 

* * *

 

Once they have all possible exits marked and guarded, Jake goes to watch Judy from the observation room. The man is lounging in his chair, singing quietly to himself, not looking nervous or guilty in the slightest. His demeanour doesn’t suggest a set-up, but they're dealing with a master criminal here, and Jake is just all the more suspicious.

The door of the observation room bursts open to reveal Rosa in the doorway, clearly having kicked it in. Jake’s not proud to admit he let out a high-pitched shriek in fright but she says nothing, except for a nod and a “’S’up.”

“Rosa? What are you doing here?”

“Charles called. He said you had Judy. Guy got away from me too, remember?”

 _Did Charles call everyone?_ Jake wonders. “If you're here to steal the case, just know that you will probably have to pry the file from my cold, dead hands, because the only way you're getting it is if you murder me.”

She rolls her eyes. “I'm not going to take the case, Jake.”

“Oh, thank god,” he sighs in relief – he knows she could probably kill him and get away with it, regardless of them being in a police precinct surrounded by cops. “I kind of wasn’t sure if you would or not even though you know how much this means to me and it totally would have affected our friendship and–”

This time, she raises an eyebrow, which he’s learned over the course of their longer-than-a-decade friendship either means ‘shut up’ or ‘I will hit you’.

“– Yeah, I'm going to stop talking now. Want to come question him?” he asks.

She grins. “Hell yeah.”

Captain Holt is outside the door to the interrogation room.

“Oh, hey, Captain, come to wish us luck? That’s so thoughtful of you,” Jake says, but Holt ignores him.

“Detective Diaz,” He nods at Rosa, who returns the gesture. That’s apparently all the catch-up they need, because Holt redirects his attention back to him. “Actually, Peralta, I'm going to sit in on your interrogation.”

“What? Why? Now? Why?”

“Because, in the past, your emotional investment in this case has led to Mr. Judy escaping custody several times. I’d rather not have a repeat of such.”

Jake is super offended by that – Judy has only gotten away from him because he is a snake and it’s totally not Jake’s emotions’ fault – but Rosa speaks first.   

“That’s fair. C’mon, Jake,” she pulls him forward by the arm and opens the door. Judy face cracks into a smile a mile wide. 

“Rosa, Rosa, _Rosa_ ,” he says. “Damn, girl, you look good.”

“Mr. Judy,” Holt says, as he and Rosa sit down across the table from Judy. Jake stands, too full of restless energy. “Detective Peralta has informed me you say you have important information you would be willing to divulge, in exchange for some kind of arrangement.”

“Yessir, that is correct,” Judy answers, rather respectfully. “It’s about a job–”

“How do we know this information isn't old and wrong?” Jake interrupts.  

“I swear, man, as soon as I heard about it I came straight to you. If I was gonna be a snitch, I was only gonna snitch to my best friend who happens to be a cop.”

“How do we know you're not in on this ‘job’? Maybe the next ‘perp’ you lead us to is your electrician, or your bookie!”

“Bookie? I place my bets online like every other normal person. Besides, it’s lazy to use the same plan twice.”

“Aha! So you admit to having a plan!”

“Peralta, please allow Mr. Judy to divulge his information. Mr. Judy…” Holt gestures. “You may proceed.”

“Yes sir,” Judy leans forward. “Okay, here it is. I was chilling out in my apartment, practising my soufflé skills but they just weren’t rising? Like, everything would look good going in, but come out looking sad. You know what I'm saying?”

“Not really,” Jake says.

Rosa, leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed, glaring, says, “I get it,” and Jake has to try remain professional even though he's just been hit by the bombshell that Rosa has baked soufflés in her lifetime. He adds it to the list of things he knows about her (now six in total).

Judy gives her an infatuated smile. “I knew you would, boo. Anyways, that’s when my pal, Jamar, comes over. Jamar always comes over on baking day,” he shakes his head disappointedly. “But this time he comes over and starts talking about stolen identities? And he's like, _there might be something going down_ , and I was like _what? Jamar, you know I'm not into that stuff no more, I'm living strictly legit_ , and then he says, _but wait ‘til you hear, some of the boys have got this secret plan_.”

“Stolen identities and secret plans?!” Jake exclaims. “This is just like The Net!”

“Mmhmm, Sandy B in a bikini,” Judy hums.

“Straight up,” Jake agrees, and they bump fists. Holt is unimpressed.

“Okay, so identity theft and ‘secret plan’,” Rosa says the last part derisively, playing her default bad cop role. “This info doesn’t sound like it’s worth walking into a police precinct. It sounds like a set-up.”

“Yeah!” agrees Jake, bonding moment forgotten. “How do we know you're telling the truth?”

“The truth? Alright, here’s the truth… I was hurt you didn’t invite me to your wedding, JP.”

“Nope, not this truth, this is not the kind of truth I was looking for,” Jake tries to stop him, but Judy ploughs on regardless.

“I mean, I get it, you were only looking out for me – all those cops, you didn’t want me to get arrested and I appreciate that, man.”

Jake splutters, because the only thing that could have made his wedding day better would have been arresting Doug Judy, the Pontiac Bandit and his Arch-Nemesis (that, and a chocolate wedding cake, which they couldn’t have because Amy’s cousin Diego is allergic, which is so stupid because why did they bother invite him if they haven't seen him since? They had to settle for a _Victoria Sponge_ ).

“And I get that you didn’t know where I was at the time, but you’ve got contacts, I've got contacts. You could have reached out, man!”

“I'm sorry you feel that way, we didn’t mean to exclude you–”

“It’s okay, I'm being stupid.” He shakes his head and looks away.

“No, you're not being stupid. I was stupid.” Jake leans on the table, and Judy peeps back up at him. “Hey, how about this, next time I get married, you're totally on the guestlist.”

“Best man?” Judy asks hopefully, but Jake shakes his head.

“Don’t push it.”

Judy stands up and holds his arms open for a hug, and Jake waggles his head before going in. Judy’s got a firm grip and has a familiar smell, he thinks they might use the same detergent. 

“Jake,” Rosa says, and Jake curses himself for getting distracted.

“Right, right, sorry, sorry.”

“Your information, Mr. Judy,” Holt prompts.

Doug Judy nods. “I’ll tell you, but you gotta do me a solid.”

“That depends on the terms of the deal, Mr. Judy.”

“Right. There's this guy. He used to be a big player but he had to split town and now he's back with a small crew, and he wants to rebuild the mob again. They’ve already done some of the smaller stuff, Jamar says, and he thinks they're planning on bringing a whole lotta new drugs to the city.”

Holt muses over this information for a bit, before asking, “And your conditions of the deal?”

“Okay, so I lied a little: Jamar’s not my friend, he's my nephew. And he does come over every baking day because I have a talent for desserts; but also, I watch him after school until my sister finishes work. The kid's fourteen.” Judy takes a breath. “I want to be able to walk outta here without being booked. I also want you to not arrest Jamar if you find him with the crew. He's an idiot, but he's a good kid. I don’t want him to ruin the rest of his life because he wants to be just like his uncle.”

“And in return…”

“I’ll tell you where the guy’s hiding out.”

 

* * *

 

“I think I know who it is,” Jake says as soon as they leave the room to discuss their options. Judy’s description had sparked some memories. “Remember the Ianuccis?”

“It’s been like, ten years since that case,” Rosa points out. “Most of the lower to middle members will be back on the streets by now.”

“It has to be Freddy Maliardi,” Jake insists. “He’s the only one that escaped back then on his stupid plane with his stupid face.”

“Peralta’s right,” Holt decides measuredly, and Jake fist pumps in celebration. “And not just about the stupidity of the man’s visage. Mr. Judy’s description seems to correspond to what we know about Maliardi already.”

“I say take the deal,” Rosa says gruffly. “Even if it isn't that guy, someone gets arrested and I don’t have to deal with another drug case migraine.”

“Wait,” Jake realises suddenly. He had been so caught up in his undercover memories and the excitement of possibly arresting Freddy that he’d forgotten the terms of the deal for a second. “And let Judy go free?”

“The rise in crime, the resurgence of gang violence… whether this is Maliardi or not, this arrest could do a lot of good, Jake.”

“I have been chasing Doug ‘The Pontiac Bandit’ Judy for half of my career!” He says indignantly.

“Congratulations,” Rosa deadpans, and Jake makes a face at her.

“Detective Diaz, this is not our decision.” Holt reminds her. “Peralta is primary on this case, and therefore whether the deal is agreed to or not depends on him. We will leave you to think about it, Detective,” he says to Jake, opening the door and waiting for Rosa to stride through it (which she does after glaring at him) before following her and leaving Jake alone in the observation room, watching his arch-nemesis through the glass.

He can't let Judy go. It would be crazy – losing the man who has stolen over two hundred Pontiacs to a handful of measly info that might not even be right. It’s not even a fair exchange! Holt and Rosa are being stupid.

The door opens, and Amy shuts it closed behind her softly before coming to join him, standing at the glass.

“The next time you get married, huh?” Amy asks him, and of course she was watching. It’s kind of reassuring that she knows how important this is to him and is on his side.

“Yeah, y’know, when we renew our vows when we’re old because we’re still super in love and want to have a party about it,” Jake knows he's saved it when Amy’s face softens and she kisses him on the cheek.

“Nice save, Peralta,” she whispers in his ear, and yep, he's just as smooth as he thinks he is.

They both stare at Judy for a bit, who's gone back to singing to himself. After a few minutes, she hesitates to say something before shaking her head and saying it anyway.

“Maybe you should give him the benefit of the doubt? I mean,” Amy ventures, before rushing on, as if sensing his outrage and wanting to make her point before he has a meltdown. “He did walk into a building filled with cops to tell us despite his multiple offences.”

Strike what he said before, apparently even Amy has crossed over to the dark side. “No, Amy! Not you too! First my Captain, then my co-workers, and now he's charmed my wife? Dammit, Judy!”

Judy perks up in the interrogation room. “Hey, ‘Detectives P’n’S’? Detective Penis!” He chuckles to himself before shaking his head ruefully, “That’s unfortunate.”

Jake’s face imitates rollercoaster: there's an expression of total joy before it withers to a sudden fury.

“I am so mad that I didn’t think of that before. How dare you take away the joy of discovering that, Judy!”

“Jake…” Amy tries to calm him, but he's on a roll.

“No! I can't even look at you right now, _betrayer_. Go find the rest of your _betrayal_ crew and leave me!” He can practically hear Amy’s affronted expression. “I'm sorry, I love you so much – but I have to be alone right now.”

Doug Judy remains none the wiser on the other side of the glass, calmly mumble-singing, “ _Detective P’n’S, Penis, but only one of them’s got one…_ ”

 

* * *

 

“Captain? Can I talk to you for a second?” Jake strides into Holt’s office, slamming the door behind him and flopping down on the couch.

“Seeing as you already closed the door and have taken up residence on my couch, it seems I have no choice in the matter.” Holt states, and Jake sighs.

“I need some advice.”

“You are, of course, referring to the moral dilemma you are facing in regards to one Mr. Doug Judy?”

“Yes, I am referring to that!” Jake snaps, then wilts slightly when he sees Holt’s eyelid twitch in disapproval. “I don’t know what to do. Freddy’s a mob boss but Doug Judy is my nemesis! The Voldemort to my Harry Potter! The Bill to my Bride! The–”

“Brahms to your Tchaikovsky,” Holt muses, and Jake makes a face (because he has no idea what those words mean) but nods furiously anyway.

“And his information concerning Maliardi…” Holt continues, looking at him questioningly, and he sighs. Here’s the snag.

“Actually seems legit.” He’d checked and doubled checked everything Judy said, trying to find any inconsistency that would hint he was lying so Jake could arrest him. “The alias Judy said he used flew into New York two months ago, which fits in with the timeline of when mob activity started to pick up. If it isn't Freddy, its someone just as dangerous.”

Holt nods slowly, frowning in what could be thought but also nausea – Jake still reads him wrong nine times out of ten.

“In my personal opinion,” he begins, measuredly, and Jake has a bad feeling that he's not going to like this, “when ranking the seriousness of offences to determine the criminal who poses the highest risk to the constituency and crime rates of this precinct, an ex-mob drug kingpin trumps a car thief who in his own words is now ‘living strictly legit’.”

Jake was right – Holt is telling him exactly what he doesn’t want to hear, and his uses of exaggerated air-quotes does nothing to soften the blow. “But–”

Holt holds up a hand. “If it were my case, I know what I would do. However, it is not; therefore, the final decision… I will leave to you.” He rises from his chair gracefully and exits the room, leaving Jake stammering after him.

“Captain? C’mon, Captain, don’t use this as a teaching moment. Captain?! Please?”

He sighs, then stamps his foot on the floor in frustration, because the Captain’s right. Even if Judy is the _worst_ , even if letting him go betrays all of his principles, he remembers the Freddy he knew while he was undercover, and he was not a guy Jake would be looking forward to running into again. The thought of Maliardi walking along the same streets as Sam makes up his mind.  

Captain Holt walks briskly back into the room, startling Jake out of his head. “I left the room for dramatic effect, but this is my office,” he explains. “You're dismissed, Detective.” 

 

* * *

 

They find Freddy exactly where Judy said he’d be, holed up in a derelict building in a dodgier part of the city. Jake brings a team along, as well as Charles and Rosa, and it’s almost like old times again. Maliardi gets out a couple shots at them, but in no time they're slapping a shiny pair of cuffs on his wrists and marching him out to the squad car. Freddy is not happy to see him, and tells him so with some choice phrases, but Jake has a weird sense of closure. Now he's finally brought all the Ianuccis to justice, and it’s a pretty damn good feeling.

The good feeling evaporates when they get back to the precinct though when, as per their deal, Doug Judy is released from custody and allowed to escape him once again, stopping by the bullpen to say goodbye and rub salt in the wound before he leaves.

“Jake,” he clasps his shoulders and pulls him in for a hug, which Jake doesn’t reciprocate because he’s sulking. “It was good to see you again. Take care of yourself, man, and tell your lady I said bye!”

Judy holds the hug for a few more seconds before releasing him and turning to Rosa.

“Rosa, Rosa, Rosa,” he says, blowing her a kiss but wisely keeping his distance. “I’ll wait for you,” he promises, which earns him a raised eyebrow but a respectful, “’Til next time, Judy.”

He walks backwards into the elevator, waving at them until the doors close.

“Nothing like a Doug Judy case to bring us all back together, right guys?” Boyle says happily, watching with them.

“Not now, Charles.” Jake says. It’s still too fresh.

“Right, sorry. My bad.”

And so, for the way too many-th time of his life, Jake can only watch as Doug Judy, Pontiac Bandit, gets away from him, a free man.

It’s a sting that doesn’t go away for weeks, even when a package appears on their doorstep, containing a child-sized bathrobe with _Thunderstone Junior_ monogrammed in sparkling, gold thread on the back. Sam puts it on immediately. Amy’s enchanted, but Jake knows that somewhere, Judy is laughing while he does something that’s probably illegal, and he renews his vow to chase to the ends of the earth, even if it takes him the rest of his life. Then he joins his family on the couch after pulling on his own bathrobe, because it really is _very_ soft.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last story of this series, unless more inspiration hits. Thank you so much to everybody who liked and commented on the previous two stories - it is so appreciated! I love reading all the bits you liked and your feels about them. Any comments and likes on this story will likewise be received with love.  
> If you haven't read the two previous stories to this one, check them out!


End file.
